


i feel my heart come undone

by LunarNimbus



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Coda, Drabble, Episode: s03e17 coda, F/M, Mention of Mazikeen, One Shot, Potential Spoilers, Season 3 Spoilers, kinda angsty, mention of Chloe Decker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 21:15:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13983465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunarNimbus/pseuds/LunarNimbus
Summary: He goes to Linda in the aftermath. Coda to 3x17 “Let Pinhead Sing."





	i feel my heart come undone

In the aftermath, his feet carry him to Linda’s office. 

It’s dark in her office and dark outside, clouds blotting out the faint pinpricks of starlight above Los Angeles, when Lucifer pushes the door open and walks in. He’s not surprised to see her working late; she often does. Her hair is golden in the lamplight and her face is half in shadow when she raises her head. 

Lucifer wonders if she can see the look on his face, if she knows from the way his lip trembles. 

Linda offers to turn the overhead lights on, but the Devil cuts her off before she can finish her sentence. He sounds different - harsh, yes, but not angry - and his eyes glitter in the dim light. She closes her mouth and gives a tiny nod. She won’t ask again. She understands he’s using the darkness to hide. 

“I,” he starts. Stops. Breathes. “I think I’ve made a horrible mistake.”

And Linda sees it all over him. At a glance he looks fine, impeccably dressed and not a hair out of place, but it’s the most disheveled Linda has ever seen him (barring the early days, that is). Everything is in its rightful place, but Linda can see him coming apart at the seams. 

She doesn’t need to ask him what happened. She may not be psychic, may not know any details, but there can only be one reason for the lost look on his face. 

Lucifer watches as comprehension falls over her face and something in him snaps. He stumbles over to the low couch, dropping onto it with his head in his hands. 

“Lucifer,” Linda breathes, rising from her desk and approaching the couch slowly. He’s her friend and she loves him, but she’s never seen him like this. She treats him carefully, like a wounded animal. “Lucifer, I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t look up at her when she finally sinks onto the couch next to him, taking care not to touch him. Inwardly, he curses and praises her perceptiveness: he hates, despises that she can see through him so easily, but he loves that she understands, that he doesn’t have to say anything. 

The Devil may be good with words, but this is something new. 

Cautiously, soft like a bird, Linda’s hand flutters to his back in an attempt at comfort, and Lucifer breaks. 

“I just wanted to protect her,” he says to his knees in the dark. Beside him, Linda holds silent, listening. “It was to keep her safe. Keep her out of the spotlight. Keep Father’s damned attention away from her.”

Linda’s hand rubs small circles against his back. It doesn’t help, not really, but it’s welcome all the same. When she does speak, her voice is soft. 

“What happened, Lucifer?”

His mind races: _the meaningless gifts given to strangers, the attention he’d lavished on others while excluding the Detective, the hurt in her eyes before he’d covered her hand with his at Lux._

Knowing where his train of thought is headed, Lucifer tries to cut it off before the memory of watching her walk away with Cain, her soft smile and bright eyes burned onto the backs of his eyelids.

He's not fast enough.

He’s spent millennia torturing people, and it shouldn't surprise him he’s good at self-torture, too. 

“I,” he says. “She saw right through me, you know. Knew I was pushing her away after the bomb scare, even if she didn’t know the whole story.” His next breath shudders out of his lungs. “The road to Hell, good intentions, that old story.”

He moves his left hand to rest gently over his heart and laughs bitterly. 

“It’s hard to breathe,” he says, and Linda’s hand pauses. The concern is radiating off of her in waves. “Feels like I’ve been hollowed out.”

“I know,” she says simply, curling her legs underneath her. 

And she does know. Her anger at Maze, a raging wildfire earlier, has banked down to a low, steady burn. Still, she hurts, and the sadness outweighs the anger. Here, now, her heart aches for herself, for Maze, for Lucifer. For Chloe, too. 

“It can be devastating to be on the outs with someone you love,” she continues, hating the teary edge her voice takes on. “It’s disheartening.”

He presses his hand more firmly to his chest and a harsh smile crosses his face. So that’s what this is. His heart has been lifted, plucked out, and he misses her so much he aches. 

For once, sitting on the couch in the dark, Linda’s soft presence next to him, Lucifer lowers his walls completely. He doesn’t hedge or dance around the truth. He doesn’t shift the blame. 

For once, Linda doesn’t prod or try to draw out answers. She listens. It’s what she’s good at, after all, and she’ll give him whatever he needs: time, a friend, or a shoulder to cry on, if the Devil does indeed cry. 

They sit together in the dark until morning comes.


End file.
